Sometimes, it flows both ways...

I haven't mentioned Derek in my blog before.

My relationship with him is sort of complex and by discussing it, I run the risk of painting myself in false colors of saintliness that I don't deserve. But I had a conversation with him yesterday that shifted my world to the left a little bit. I wanted to share it here.

Derek is homeless.

On most days, you can find him outside the Cozi, located at the corner of Washington and Franklin, shaking a cup for change. For a time, he sold Streetwise, but I think he lost his license for that. Because he went back to just shaking the cup. He has a quiet demeanor about him. He doesn't yell out or hit passerbys with the same patter for every person ("Help the homeless. Gahblessyou. Help the homeless. Gahblessyou.") Derek quietly shakes his cup and if you make eye contact with him, he will smile sheepishly at you and wait to see if you make a move to put something into it. A quiet, simple, passive human contact. If you can't help or don't want to, you walk away without feeling condemned by your choice.

I guess people have preferences about how they want to interract with the homeless in this city. If you like the singing, dancing variety, we have those. If you like the aggressive, go-getum types, we have them too. If you prefer yours to be genuinely handicapped and visibly living a hard life, you can get that, as well. I tend to shy away from and actively avoid the REALLY aggressive guys. There's a guy under a construction awning over on Randolph, who, if you pass him by without adding change to his cup, will begin swinging his fists at the air behind your head. Punching something that represents you, more than actually IS you. That guy scares the Hell out of me.

I like Derek, though. And his quiet way.

It took me nearly four or five months to acnowledge his existence. I would rush right by him, avoiding eye contact and and indeed, any contact whatsoever. I think someone, somewhere told me about how "giving the homeless money, is NOT helping them. You should give them information on counseling and advise them to rehabilitate themselves and rejoin society as productive members." Or some such bullshit like that.

One day, walking up to him, with a coin purse full of change, I stumbled onto a personal philosophy that better reflected my world view.

Strip away class, race, age, economics and history and reduce this argument to the simplest basics and the answer is clear.

I have Some.

Not Much, but Some.

He has None.

He needs Some.

Occasionally, I have Some To Spare.

When I can, I will give him Some of my Spare.

When I can't give him Some, I will still give him Attention and Care.

Sometimes it really is as simple as that...

On that day, walking to him, I slipped him a small handful of the change that I had. But more importantly, I stopped and asked him his name. He said it was "Derek". And he looked like I had given him something very, very valuable. I told him my first name and we shook hands. When I walked away from him to catch the train home, I said, "See you tomorrow." And that expressed a message of hope and value. It said, "I liked seeing you today. And I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

I believe that those values are critical to the health and well-being of the human soul. Somewhere out there, someone cares about you. I think that has critical value to every human being.

And Derek and I have enjoyed this small, tentative friendship for almost a year and a half now. I always say "Hi" to him, when I pass. If the stoplight catches me, we stop and chat for a bit. He gives me absolutely accurate weather forecasts for the next week. (Weather is of critical interest to someone who is outside all the time.) He also loves the cubs and tells me when something good happens to them. This season, they haven't given him too much to be happy about.

I call him "D", short for Derek. It's an affectionate nickname that I have for him. Sometimes we high five or just shake hands when I pass by.

During the really hot two weeks that we suffered in July, I grabbed him a bottled water from the 7-11, when I happened to pass him by at lunchtime. When I can, I try and grab him a sandwich from the Jimmy Johns. If I'm tight on cash, I grab him a loaf or two of the bread and hand that off to him, on my way back by. He always politely accepts these small gifts and doesn't rip into them, in front of me. And he doesn't emotionally beat me up for indulging myself in this presumptuous manner. And he doesn't give me the stink eye, if I don't bring something to him. I do what I can, when I think of it. He appreciates the gestures and in our way, we are friends.

Yesterday, I didn't get out of work until nearly 6:30pm. Downtown was pretty quiet then. The major rushes from where I work to the train stations had subsided and there were only a few people out on the streets. Rather than jingling his cup, Derek was sitting on the fire-hydrant, watching the cars go down Washington st. Just sitting. Resting. He had on a clean t-shirt with the U.S. Postal Service's Eagle on it. And baby blue seatpants. His sneakers were clean and he had on a cubs ballcap.

"Hey, D, how's it going." I asked him. I slipped him the change that I had on me.

"I'm fine. Just resting a bit. I was in the hospital for two days, this week." he quietly said. I had to lean in to hear him over the passing cars.

"No kidding. What was wrong?" I asked. My light changed to let me cross and I let it go. I would catch the next one.

Derek began telling me about kidney problems that he's always had. Runs in the family, apparently. He named his disease, something that I'd never heard of, too long a name to remember. And then he told me about his medication.

"And without any sort of insurance, hospital stays are pretty expensive. My medication, here he said the name but I've forgotten it, is big. A big blue pill and I have to take one a day. And do you know that they cost me $9 a pill? I know a pharmacist who will sell them to me at cost. Which is $6 a pill. But that's still a lot of money," he said.

"Jesus, that IS expensive. A pill, a day. At 6 bucks a pop, that's $42 bucks a week. Things are screwed up in our country, when medicine is as expensive as it is. You'd think that we live in a society that put the health of it's citizenry above basic profit."

"Yeah, you'd think," he said. "Listen, can you do a guy a favor?"

And here came the sales pitch. Regardless of the genuine goodwill that I feel for Derek, some things are unavoidable. It doesn't hurt to ask.

"Sure, D. What can I do for you?"

"I was wonderin' if you had just $18 that you could spare to me. That would mean a hot meal and my meds for today and tomorrow."

As it turned out, $18 was precisely what I had in my wallet. And because of bad math on my part, it was all that I have to live on, until the next payday. (I have a wee bit o cash coming in on Mondays, the coach's fee and I think another friend can spot me some cash until the first.) But for now, right now, the checking account is empty and the wallet is light.

And that's what I told him. I shared with Derek my frustration with my former landlord. The guy who asked me to move out early, so that he could renovate my apartment into storage for himself and his fiance. And when another apartment was found, he refused to let me break my lease early. I've paid rent on an empty apartment for June and July. And he's using my security deposit to cover my August rent. My current roomate covered my July rent in our apartment, but I'll eventually pay him back. The end result is that for the time being, I'm broke. On the first, bills get paid and I am flush again.

I apologized to Derek, for not having anything extra to spare right now. He understood.

"Hey, it's no problem. I thought I would ask. That's terrible what your landlord did to you. Is that legal?" he asked.

"Yeah, actually it is. I read my lease for some loophole and I couldn't find one." I leaned against the lightpost next to him, a little bummed out by the whole dumb story.

"That's tough, man. That's really, really tough." he said, "Listen, if you ever need a few bucks and I'm out here, let me know. I'll see what I can't get together for the both of us."

...

...

...

I thanked him. What an enormous offer of generosity from him. As I am sitting here, remembering his offer, I am nearly speechless. A day later and the selflessness that he showed me, still moves me.

This man, he lives a very hard life. I don't know where he sleeps at night. I don't know what he does for food when he's hungry. Or if he has family. Or friends. So many of the doors of the world that we know, are closed to him. He can't flirt up some pretty girl when he sees her. He can't go see a movie on the weekend on a whim. There are no movies waiting on his DVR for him. He doesn't fart around on the internet all day long. He can't keep a pet. Nearly all of his interaction with other human beings is demoralizing and frequently painful.

And yet, he has the inner strength, to offer help to a overfed, pampered white guy that probably doesn't appreciate how good he has it.

I would be lying if it wasn't a small blow to my pride to have a homeless guy offer to loan me cash. I sure as Hell, fell into the trap of classes and the unspoken caste system of our modern world. And when I realized what I was feeling the pride that didn't hear the generosity of his offer, I felt ashamed by my ignorance.

I thanked him for the offer. I wished him well. I had a train to catch. I told him that I would see him tomorrow. On my way by him, I patted him on the back. A friendly gesture of appreciation.

It wasn't until I was on the train home that I had a second to think about the conversation that we'd had. I'd never given so much of my personal background to Derek before. And obviously, he had never made an offer like that before. As certain as I was of our mutual roles in each others lives, I was the giver, he was the taker, Derek had reversed the roles. By keeping things on the basic level that I approach him with.

I had a Need. And he wanted to help me out.

Sometimes, it really is as simple as that...

Sometimes, it flows both ways...

Lesson learned.

Mr.B